I'm at my aunt's house. I guess I'm supposed to be happy that the holiday is here, but I haven't been here twenty-four hours, and I've been yelled at three times, and now we just finished raking leaves in the freezing cold with the wind blowing all our piles away so it took twice as long. I'm not even going to go into a long rant about who did what, and who said this, and who's right and who's wrong. I'm just very tired. The flight was beyond rough. I actually cried, and I can't remember how many times I prayed my rosary. I've never had a complete rosary go by so quickly. I almost kissed the ground when we landed. The pilot said it was bad weather. Bad weather my ass. The plane was being buffeted left, right, and center. It would climb and drop, and suddenly careen off to the side. I am just so happy to be alive. I begged Jesus Christ, the angels, Mary, every saint known to man, and any other spirit that might be listening to plead with God to change the weather and allow the plane to land safely. Thankfully, He did, and I am so grateful. I used to love flying, and I still love travelling, but I cannot stand flying anymore. I mean, I adore airports, and being in America on Monday, Nigeria on Wednesday, and France by Saturday. I adore that kind of thing, and I hardly ever get jet lag, but ever since